Drifting Further Away
by Foibles and Fables
Summary: In the midst of an heartbreaking situation and a strained relationship, Mark and Lexie travel to Los Angeles to seek the help they need: Dr. Naomi Bennett. Consists of two parts and a short epilogue. Private Practice characters make appearances.
1. Chapter 1

**A few notes: This crosses over with _Private Practice,_ but I decided to post it in the _Grey's_ section since it focuses solely on characters from the latter. Second, this contains a plot hole that I decided to gloss over simply for the sake of getting this out of my system and hair. Finally, this consists of two parts, and will hopefully be finished tomorrow!**

**Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.  
------------------------------------------------------------**

The decision to go to Los Angeles wasn't made on a whim.

It wasn't some arbitrary, spontaneous idea like their trip to Palm Beach three years ago had been. Mark had come home from work one evening, wearing a twisted and mischievous grin, with a glint of excitement in his eyes. He interrupted Lexie's viewing of a _Sex and the City_ rerun to kiss her fiercely and tell her to throw two outfits, a swimsuit, her toothbrush, and "something really skimpy and hot" into her suitcase and meet him by the car in ten minutes. Confused but caught up by his smile and enthusiasm, she complied, and ten minutes later they were on the way to the airport, ready for a much-needed weekend getaway.

(that was a good time, a foreign memory that was wispy and distant)

The journey to Oceanside Wellness was one almost five years in the making. There was no reason for them to even think about it, at first. In the beginning, it was fate, or, as the more scientifically-minded Mark believed, a biological inevitability. Married and off birth control for a year, "trying" leisurely. It would happen, and when it did, they would be ready. They even had twin nephews to practice on – it was perfect. It would happen. They wanted it, they were ready, and it would happen.

But, a year and a half and many negative test results later, it set in that maybe it wouldn't just _happen_.

It turned to confusion first. More planning. More trying. Cycle and ovulation tracking. When eight more months passed and they were still not pregnant, shame took over. It was embarrassing and frustrating; their bodies were failing to do something that they were created to do, and neither of them liked to fail at anything. Incompetent as human beings – duds that were falling short of keeping the race alive. The obvious fears were there, but never voiced; _what if it's him? _or _what if it's her?_ echoed in their minds after every failed attempt, only to be ultimately overshadowed by _what if it's me?_

When the Shepherds had their third pregnancy in four years and had proven themselves as the most fertile procreators in the history of the universe, the Sloans became desperate. There was so much happiness all around them, in their very _family_, but it was never directly theirs. Lexie would look at Meredith, at her swollen belly and full face and the baby girl in her arms, and a broad range of emotions would hit her simultaneously – joy, anger, pride, jealousy, humiliation, bewilderment, wanting to feel her baby bump, wanting to hold her niece, wanting to break down and cry. Derek and Mark would walk the trail in the woods with the boys; one would cling to each of Derek's legs as he ambled along, and all three would laugh while Mark would smile half-heartedly, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders to hide how fake his mirth was.

It killed them to feel that way. What Meredith and Derek had was beautiful, and they were glad for them.

But they wanted beauty for themselves, too.

Their desperation came with a hefty price. Life became a calendar obsession, all counted days and clinging to hunches. Sex was eventually reduced to the mere physical. Emotions were whittled down and pruned out by monotony when they began having intercourse several times a day, every day, proving that even sex can become tedious if it was so repetitive. But it would be worth it, they thought, believing that sheer volume would show results.

And when it didn't, Lexie would draw inward. No crying, but also no laughing, speaking, or barely any eating. She would sit and silently stare, dark eyes glassy and nose red, mourning yet another never-had. Mark, on the other hand, would lash out at anyone and everyone. The barbed feeling of failure would embed itself deep in his core and twist painfully, making him hate himself and hate her and hate how depressed she was and hate whatever greater being was responsible for it all.

The stress of calendar-keeping and mechanical sex and letdown combined with the stress from work and everyday life magnified the slightest of disagreements into huge arguments, heated and shouting. God forbid either of them would lose a patient, because those nights would come with a major fight after which Mark would storm out, slamming the door behind him so forcefully that the whole house would seem to shake on its foundation. And Lexie would be left alone in the house, no husband, no child, and there would finally be some tears to show for all the pain.

But, every time Mark left, he came back. In the wee hours of the morning, he would stumble in and creep into bed with Lexie, reeking of booze, cigarettes, and, something that Lexie tried very hard to ignore, women's perfume.

They would wake the next morning, staring up at the ceiling, inches of space separating them from one another. For a long time neither would say anything, until Lexie would give the closest thing to an absolution that would ever come:

"Everything will be okay-" A pause, shaky breath. "-when we have our baby."

Then, automatically, she would roll on top of him for their first attempt of the day.

(his mouth would taste like stale smoke and she would recoil, but it didn't matter)

But was one morning when they woke up just like that – after an explosive fight, after Mark left and came back – and something was distinctly different. It was eerie. They could feel it; the frayed end of the rope had been reached. They were both just skin and bones, literally and figuratively: no life in her womb, no fight left in their hearts. No more fire for their arguments, no strength for denial.

They both finally gave in and acknowledged it out loud.

"Something's wrong," Lexie whispered, and Mark wouldn't have heard her if he wasn't listening.

"Something's wrong," he echoed in a rough voice. Her face drained and he rubbed at his eyes with his hand.

"We need help." Her eyes were huge and her voice was tightening. "We need to find out what…what's wrong." He made a curt noise of acquiescence, and that was all.

That afternoon, Mark got them some off-time from work (no small feat – he was still the head of plastics and she had just started her fellowship) a concurrent appointment at the Oceanside Wellness Center with Naomi Bennett. They had to have the best. He played the "What? What do you mean, 'waiting list' for a wonderful old friend?" card with more than one receptionist and placed calls to both Addison and Nae herself.

Two weeks later, they were getting off of a plane at LAX, nervous and dreading beyond belief, but also a tiny bit curious.

There was no sightseeing when the Sloans stepped out into the unfamiliar brightness that was the California sun. A towncar took them from the airport to their hotel, stopping just long enough for them to drop off their luggage before they climbed inside again on the way to the clinic for their initial appointment. Mark and Lexie mirrored one another's skeptical expressions. The place looked indistinguishable from the outside, unlike the huge sterile-white structure they were used to at Seattle Grace. It might as well have been a bank.

Nonetheless, the driver was confident in his sense of direction and dropped them off in the front. They squinted at the building as pinpricks of the clear sun assaulted their eyes. But it was so warm on their skin – warmth they hadn't felt for a while.

This would be scary. But maybe it would fix everything. That thought alone was what propelled them inside.

They boarded the elevator, still silent and edgy, and Mark's hand was shaking when he pressed the button for floor 3. But when it had reached its destination and the shiny silver doors slid open, Mark tenderly pressed a hand to the small of her back and led her out into the entryway. Her heart leapt into her throat. It was the tiny gestures like those that gave her hope and reminded her that there was still something worth fighting for.

His hand fell limp and to his side, however, when they stepped into the practice and saw the interior for the first time.

If they hadn't ever known culture shock before, they certainly did now. The pristine white-washed walls and gray-speckled floors of their hospital were a stark contrast to the décor all around them: soft lighting, parquet flooring, wood-paneled columns, non-commercial artwork on the walls, potted plants _everywhere_. The air conditioning hovered at quite a comfortable temperature. Trying to keep their jaws from detaching completely and falling the rest of the way to the floor, they once again doubted their location until Mark and confirmed that the words "OCEANSIDE WELLNESS GROUP" were indeed emblazoned above the entryway.

Maybe the other floor was more…well, conducive to _medicine_, Mark thought. After all, the merge of Oceanside Wellness and Pacific Wellcare was supposed to be the greatest move in the history of forever – or, at least, that's what everyone from L.A. was saying at their wedding, just after the fuse happened. Apparently there were actual operating rooms on the fourth floor, but judging by this first impression, that seemed strange.

As they approached the front desk, their nerves managed to overtake their incredulity. The young receptionist was a stereotype, to say the least. Blonde hair, blue eyes, bronze skin, very slender, the works. Without even looking, Mark could tell that her breasts weren't completely natural. She looked up from her computer and smiled cheerfully at him and Lexie, exposing a set of perfectly straight pearly white teeth. Mark and Lexie glanced at one another for a split second – there was no way that everyone in L.A. really _was_ this happy.

"Can I help you?" she asked, still smiling, in a bouncy voice.

"Mark and Lexie Sloan," Mark answered quickly. "We're here to see Dr. Bennett. Naomi," he clarified when he remembered that Sam was there as well.

"Oh, awesome!" Mark and Lexie winced simultaneously. It was definitely not awesome. Failing to notice, the receptionist nodded and made a few keystrokes. Her nails were tipped with acrylic and painted sky blue. Her nametag read _Jill_. "Yep, here you guys are! It'll be just a few minutes, you guys can have a seat in the waiting room," she said, gesturing toward a group of comfortable-looking seats off to the side. "Dr. Bennett will be right out." She flashed another grin and Mark and Lexie obeyed. Lexie smiled gratefully at the girl, although she said nothing. She had a feeling that if she were to speak, her voice would crack very embarrassingly.

There was another couple sitting by the window, which framed the boardwalk like a very realistic painting. The man's arm was around the woman, and there was a major glow about them. Lexie caught the woman's eye and gave her a soft smile. Then, her gaze dropped to the woman's stomach. She was pregnant – not far along, but definitely showing, with a distinctive round bump. Lexie had to turn away.

They sat down. The seats weren't actually as comfortable as they had looked. Lexie began to tap her foot against the hardwood floor, peeking tentatively down the adjacent hallway lined with offices. Which one would they would enter in a few minutes? Mark's teeth were clasped around the first knuckle of his index finger. He tried to think of something to say to her, to lighten the mood and distract both of them, but he was at an absolute loss (and he was once so good at that kind of thing!). So he sighed instead, and she barely took notice.

They just needed to get this over with.

Another moment later, however, their prayers for a distraction were answered. It came in the form of an incredibly loud _bang_ as the stairway door next to the elevator burst open. A small body came careening out of the open doorway, a blurred streak of blue, white, brown, and tan. Mark and Lexie automatically leaned forward to get a closer look at whatever had just bolted into lobby of the practice.

The thing skidded to a halt a little to the side of the front desk – it was a child, a little boy. He was about six years old, with wavy brunette hair and big hazel eyes. He looked over his shoulder at the door with a mischievous grin plastered to his little face, seeming to be waiting for something. Mark squinted at the boy for a moment – he knew him, somehow – before he recognized him. It was the kid who had been at Sam and Naomi's second wedding, the one who slept through the whole ceremony and then refused to let his father put him down at all during the reception. The son of a couple of the Bennetts' coworkers. He was just a little one then, a toddler, maybe two years old. Lexie had oohed and ahhed over him the entire time, smiling uncontrollably as the boy's dad danced with him during a slow song, elbowing Mark in the ribs and saying "_Look_, isn't he adorable?"

"So why don't you dance with him instead? I'm sure the dad would let you cut in," he had replied, smirking, pulling her body more tightly to his. She had laughed, really laughed for the first time in a while (the problems were just beginning then), eyes sparkling.

"Oh, shut up, Mark. Besides, I don't even know them…he _is_ really cute, though, maybe even cuter than you." She smirked right back at him before standing on tip-toe to give him a feathery kiss on the lips. Then, she rested her head on his shoulder and they continued to dance lazily, swaying in place, breathing slowly and deeply, drifting gently in the sea of dancing couples.

In the present, Mark closed his eyes and remembered the happiness and peacefulness of that moment. God, he hoped they weren't gone forever. He was about put a hand on Lexie's knee when suddenly there were more rapid footsteps echoing over the floor and across the lobby. They belonged to a little girl, smaller and younger than the boy, probably four or so. Mark didn't remember this one at all. He heard Lexie inhale sharply at the sight of her. She was absolutely gorgeous. She had cornsilk blonde hair and gray-blue eyes; freckles were smattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She smiled at the boy and her face scrunched up charmingly. Mark turned his head to look at Lexie. She was gazing at the children, _staring_, with such longing that it made his stomach churn.

The little boy and girl took off toward the offices, then – what they were looking to do or find was beyond him, but it was probably trouble (he could remember enough about his and Derek's days as kids to know that much). But before they could even get halfway through it, voices exploded from two separate offices on opposite sides, one quick and one in a drawl but both of them feminine, shrill, and stern; voices that could only belong to their mothers. Shouts of "Jeffrey Wilder!" and "Marjorie Freedman!" overlapped in the middle, but the kids got the message well enough to freeze in their tracks, guilt written all over their little faces.

Before their mothers needed to intervene, a third voice broke the air. "You two, come here. _Now_." Mark and Lexie followed it to its source: a short, mousy twentysomething woman wearing khaki slacks and a purple polo with the insignia of the daycare Mark had seen listed on the floor below. The children pouted, but recognized that they had been caught fair and square, and stomped over to the woman. They each took one of her outstretched hands. The receptionist let out a bubbly laugh.

"Hey, guys!" she gushed at the little ones. "You can't run off like that, okay? Your parents have work to do."

"She's right," the daycare worker concurred, nodding at the kids. Then, she turned her attention to Jill. "They're good kids, they really are. Just rambunctious. They'll do this every so often, sneak away during naptime." Jill must have been new. "What can you expect when their parents work a floor above where they spend their time?" Then, she began gently tugging the kids toward the exit. "Come on, or you'll miss your snack." Two sets of eyes widened in horror as the kids scrambled into the elevator. Lexie watched them closely until the doors slid closed, then sighed deeply as if she was reluctantly waking up from a wonderful dream.

The clack-clack of designer heels they heard next might as well have been fanfare. Addison Montgomery had exited her office and was flitting down the hallway, looking quite preoccupied, digging through her handbag. Mark only felt a phantom ache when he saw her, the pain having dulled immensely over the years. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, muttering a curse word, and almost passed right by them without noticing. Maybe she didn't recognize them, especially Mark. Maybe she wasn't used to seeing him with lines on his face. Maybe she wasn't used to seeing Lexie with dark bags under her eyes.

But as they ran fleetingly across her peripheral vision, she stopped her determined marching and wobbled in place, torso still moving even though her feet had halted. Regaining her bearings, she turned toward them with a cool half-smile. "Mark," she greeted happily, heading over to them. "Lexie. How are you?" She hugged Mark first and then Lexie, and the Sloans raised their eyebrows at one another. What Meredith had said all those years ago was true. Los Angeles made people want to give a lot of hugs.

"Hi," Lexie said shyly, taken aback as usual by Addison's always-glamorous presence. She looked the same, even after five years. Not often, but sometimes, especially when the woman was _hugging_ her like that, she still couldn't fathom how Mark could settle for her after being with Addison.

"We're good," Mark lied for the sake of making things with her go as quickly as possible. "Just here for some tests." Addison's face fell to a sympathetic expression and she nodded. A pause followed. Mark cleared his throat and Addison smoothed her hair again.

"How are Meredith and Derek? The kids?" She cringed as soon as the innocent question left her mouth, after she remembered why they were here and the error she had just made.

"Everyone's fine," Mark told her, immune to it, and Lexie made a noise of affirmation. Another pause, just as uncomfortable as the first.

"Well…what do you think of the place?" Addison asked, indicating her surroundings with a broad sweep of her arms. Mark involuntarily zeroed in on her left ring finger. It was bare. He ran his thumb along the base of his own, the pad gliding along the gold band that rested there.

"It's really beautiful," Lexie answered to appease Addison's anticipating smile.

"Yeah," her husband agreed. "Very nice. Different."

"From Seattle Grace? Most definitely." Addison quirked a thin auburn eyebrow. "I think that's why I like it so much." The corner of her mouth turned up into a joking smirk. Then, a rapid beeping filled the air, one so familiar that it sent Mark and Lexie's hands flying for their hips. They both patted at their waistlines for a few seconds before they remembered that they weren't wearing their pagers. "_Shit,_" Addison hissed under her breath, pulling hers out of her bag and looking at it. She grimaced. "I've really got to go, this is the second time they've paged me," she told them apologetically. "I've got a high-risk patient about to deliver at the hospital. Maybe I'll see you when I get back. I hope I do." She placed a hand on Lexie's arm, giving her a look of sympathy. "If you need anything while you're here, anything at all, you know how to find me."

She smiled, then, and the corners of her eyes wrinkled and Lexie marveled at how good the years had been to her. "Thank you," she stammered, and Mark said it also, just a second out of sync. With that, Addison began briskly toward the elevator, rummaging in her purse before tearing a pair of sunglasses from its apparently cavernous depth, giving Jill a curt nod as she exited.

No sooner had the elevator departed than Naomi was finally making her way across the lobby. "Good morning," she said, grinning cheerfully. She was as beautiful and voluptuous as ever, wearing a navy blue skirt suit and her pristine white smile.

"Naomi." Mark's heart began hammering at the sight of her. It would be time soon. Lexie's adrenaline level spiked. She tried to swallow but there was nothing there _to_ swallow, so she had to make a jerky motion with her neck to stop from choking.

By then, Naomi had closed the gap and was embracing Mark, then Lexie (more awkwardly). "Oh," she said, unable to suppress a grin of excitement at seeing her old friend again, even under these circumstances. "You two look wonderful." Mark and Lexie knew she was lying. They both knew perfectly well that they looked strained and tired. "It's been a while, since…the wedding, right?"

"Yep," replied Mark. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest. _When_ would they go back into her office?

"Sam's with a patient right now, so maybe he'll say hi later," Naomi went on happily. "And Maya sends her love, she's getting ready for her _sophomore year_ of college. But enough about us, let's get down to business," she said, definitively, fluidly changing from chatty to serious. "We're going to do everything we can to help you, I promise. Come on back…"

Mark and Lexie didn't need to be bribed. After Lexie stole one more look at the pregnant woman and her husband, they all but trotted after her down the hallway and into her office, their nausea and jitters swelling to capacity. Her office was decorated much like the rest of the practice, antique in a cozy kind of way. Naomi nodded toward the plush seats across from her desk and they sat down, on the very edge. She took a seat behind her own desk and grabbed a blank chart.

"Okay." She clicked a pen and bridged her fingers, gazing at them from over her fingertips. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Fertility problems almost always have a solution," she reassured them when she saw their terrified faces. "Before we run the tests, I have to ask you to answer these questions." She slid the chart and a pen across the desk, and Mark picked them up.

He scribbled down the answers to every question the paper asked him, and Lexie provided hers when needed – they gave information about their medical and family history, medications, use of alcohol, caffeine, and drugs, sexual habits, preference for boxers or briefs, birth control methods, relationship history, exposure to toxins and radiation, menstrual cycle, and a million other things until their brains hurt. When the final line was filled in, Mark handed the chart back to Naomi. She scanned it, tongue pressed to her cheek.

"Alright, looks like we're ready to start," she told them when she had read all that she needed to. "Here's what we're going to do. Lexie, you're going to come with me and I'm going to perform a pelvic exam, including a transvaginal ultrasound-" (Lexie flinched just a bit) "-as well as a few blood tests. We'll send your samples to be analyzed first." She stood, then, and made her way over to a supply cabinet. "In the meantime, Mark," she went on, taking a wrapped plastic cup from it, "we're going to find you a nice, private room and some magazines. You know the drill." She handed the cup to him and he faked a dirty smirk and eyebrow wag, because that's what he would normally do. She bought it. "We'll hold your sample until Lexie's results come back. No unnecessary testing, you know. Well, what do you say? Ready?"

Mark and Lexie didn't answer right away. They glanced at one another, faces pale and eyes wide. This was it.

"Discovering the problem is the first step to a solution," Naomi said softly, relaxingly. She stood once again and Lexie followed suit. She took a deep, steadying breath. She could do this.

"Don't have too much fun without me," she told Mark, a smile breaking out on her face despite everything.

"No promises," he quipped, the corner of his own mouth curling.

"I love you." She realized that it had been a long time since she had said it without forcing it.

Mark felt pricks of warmth all over his body. The fact that she still loved him and meant it after all of the mistakes and disappointment and sadness and stupid decisions he had made said so much.

"I love you, too."

They would survive this.

She bent at the waist and kissed him, chaste and close-lipped, and he tasted right. Not like nicotine or alcohol. Like Mark. Satisfied and elated, she allowed Naomi to lead her out of the room.

They would definitely survive this.

(but the fear crept back up almost immediately, suffocating and crippling)


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the conclusion. Don't be discouraged by the ending - I have a follow-up planned that will tie the loose ends together much better.**  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours passed slowly, minutes and seconds trickling by like water in a low creek. Naomi had finished up with Lexie and sent her samples to the lab with a rush order on them. The pregnant woman was gone by the time Lexie made it back to the waiting room. Mark had made his own contribution, and it was currently being preserved in case Lexie's results turned out fine and it was needed. They spent the time out in the waiting room, fidgeting nervously and wanting to speak but not being able to think of anything to say. Sam had poked his head out of his office and waved to them a while ago, in the midst of a steady stream of patients. People had passed through, patients and doctors alike, the latter regarding them with some degree of recognition but no tangible grasp on who they were exactly.

Mark sighed and rubbed at a crick in his neck, giving Lexie a sidelong glance in the process. Even after they had exchanged I love you's, it still felt like there was a wall between them - built up by the bricks and mortar of exhaustion and all of the silent fears. It was a very unfriendly, cold feeling that chilled him to the very core.

And it was especially debilitating now. They needed each other more than ever.

Just before the silence drove them absolutely mad, Naomi reappeared, walking in their direction with a purpose. She had changed and was now wearing a scrub cap and a white coat because of her presence in the lab. Her mouth was taut, dark brown eyes unreadable, trying hard to keep her appearance neutral. Mark and Lexie knew that look too well. They had both put it on in the past. The same crushing conclusion reached them at the same time.

She was about to deliver bad news.

Lexie felt her face drain. Her breath stopped and didn't immediately start again. Without thinking, her hand moved to her belly, right over her womb. What was wrong with it? What was wrong with her that she couldn't create a child? Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away swiftly. Mark noticed them for the instant they had brimmed, and his chest tightened. What would this do to her?

"Mark, Lexie." Naomi's tone was even and unbiased as she stood before them unwaveringly. "If you'd come back into my office, there are some things we need to discuss."

It took Lexie a moment to stand, her legs felt like rubber; Naomi was patient. When she began to walk it was as if the floor had been replaced by a single loose tightrope. Cautiously, Mark kept next to her in case knees gave out (and it looked like they could have).

Somehow, they made it through the long walk back to the office. Mark and Lexie rested in the same chairs as before, waiting as Naomi took her seat. Mark braved the wall and reached for Lexie's hand, because he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he hadn't, eased slightly when he made contact with soft, warm flesh instead of smashing his hand painfully into the brick.

For a moment, he couldn't believe she was still so warm.

Naomi had a new sheet. Lexie's eyes were glued to it, face ghostly pale. "I have your results here, Lexie," Naomi began, lowering her voice to a very gentle tone as Mark squeezed her hand, "and you should know that everything is just fine."

There was a beat before words registered. Then, relief flooded Lexie like the first breath after coming up from underwater. Her pulse was still pounding, limbs basically weightless. Naomi offered the paper to her, and Lexie took it with her free hand; it shook as she grasped it. "Your pelvic exam and ultrasound were typical, and the blood tests showed that your LH and FHC levels were within normal ranges," explained Naomi while Lexie read along, gradually becoming grounded once again, drifting back into her body.

Through his wife's elation, however, Mark's heart had sunk. She was alright. That was good. Wonderful. But now it was inevitable. Something he had half-suspected all along.

"Which means it's me." The words brought a rise of gut-wrenching pain that he had to bite down on.

"Mark," Lexie whispered, suddenly feeling guilty of her alleviation. She put her hand over his between them, but he pulled it away. She grabbed at the air instead.

When Naomi spoke, her voice was firm but soothing at the same time, natural from years of practice at reassuring people like them. "We don't know that yet," she told him. "Both of you could be perfectly normal. You could have just had bad luck so far."

"Four years of bad luck?" Mark asked with bitterly sarcastic doubt. It felt like poison as it left his mouth, but he didn't care.

"Stranger things have happened," said Naomi with a shrug, unphased. He couldn't come up with an argument. "I already sent your sample to be looked at, and I'm headed to the lab myself in just a moment. I promise it won't be long. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

They waited in her office this time, rooted to their seats. Sixty minutes had never felt longer or more excruciating. The window was spilling lovely sunlight onto the floor, particles of dust caught in its beams, drifting up and then eventually circling back down. Neither Mark nor Lexie took much notice of the little changes going on in the air around them. Lexie was restless, switching positions every so often when a cramp would strike or her ass became numb or, the most common reason, she felt like she needed to move or else she'd go crazy. On the contrary, Mark remained completely motionless, staring straight ahead, barely blinking or breathing. It was all he could do to keep the humiliation from breaking the surface. Something was wrong with him. Soon Lexie and Naomi and everyone else would know too. He had failed. He could barely resist the urge to pound his fist on Naomi's desk.

He didn't allow himself to react to anything until Naomi reentered, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Lexie nearly jumped out of her chair but was able to control herself at the last second, containing it to a slight forward lurch. Mark watched Naomi warily through his eyelashes, and he looked so frightened and childlike that it caused an aching twinge in her stomach. She hated to hurt anyone, but especially a friend. It reminded her of that time many years ago when she gave some bad news to Addison.

But she had a job to do. She took a deep breath and let it go very slowly.

"Mark, I'm sorry to say that your sample was abnormal." After the first sentence hit the air, she couldn't take it. She dropped the purely professional façade and spoke to him like the person he was: one of her oldest friends. Her face softened and she leaned forward over her desk to get as close to him and Lexie as possible. "In speaking about fertility, motility refers to how your sperm can move forward toward the fallopian tubes and fertilize an egg. When we put your sample under a microscope, we could see without a doubt what was wrong. I'm so sorry, Mark. Your sperm have low motility, almost none."

His fists clenched, eyes fixed on Naomi's. There was a lull in time. He could feel the prickly heat of self-loathing begin to spread over him. Lexie touched his arm, and the muscles and tendons tensed until they hurt, but he didn't jerk it away. She knew the cycle and abhorred it. Every time his self-esteem issues would come up, which was more often than not these days, it hurt her more than he could probably imagine. One memory immediately permeated her mind: the fleetingly sad, jealous, and bitter look that crossed his face when he had watched Derek hold his daughter the day she was born. She could see the question that was probably in his mind right now: "what will Derek think when he finds out?"

"Low sperm motility is one of the most common male fertility problems," Naomi went on in a futile attempt to assuage his hurt. "It can be caused by any number of things, most of which can't be attributed to anything you've deliberately done. So you _can't_ blame yourself for this, Mark. It's probably been with you for a long time…it usually doesn't develop suddenly. Unfortunately, the chances of conceiving a child naturally with low sperm motility are extremely small, almost nonexistent. The sperm just can't get to the egg and, if they do, penetration and fertilization are incredibly difficult." There was a waver and pause in her words, then, sudden uneasiness overcoming her. She blinked and recovered. "Of course, like with anything, there have been miracle cases I've heard of. But they are tremendously uncommon. I don't want to put a number on it."

Confusion struck him first. Then total astonishment. Followed by numbness.

"But know that this problem doesn't preclude you from having a child altogether," she affirmed, looking at Lexie this time. "In vitro fertilization has proven very successful in cases like this, along with sperm retrieval and ICSI. And if you're more inclined to see things happen naturally, I can refer you to our alternative medicine specialist, Pete Wilder. Studies have shown that certain herbs and practices can increase sperm motility. But I don't think you'll go for that," she joked, giving Mark a tentatively playful smirk, which he returned in the slightest way possible: a tiny twitch of his lips. He was beyond comprehension at that point, his mind stuck on one thing and one thing only. A discrepancy that he wanted to voice but just couldn't force out of his mouth – even after all these years, it still hurt that much.

"I know this is a lot to digest," Naomi noted in a sympathetic manner. "You should talk about it together, take some time and figure out what you want to do. How long are you here for?"

When Mark didn't reply, Lexie did. "Two weeks," she said, whispered, "with the tentative option for more if we need it."

"Okay." Naomi bobbed her head up and down with a soft smile. She took an appointment book from her drawer and began to write in it. "I'm going to schedule you both for two appointments within the next few days. Two days from now, to give you time to work it out for yourselves first, an appointment with Violet Turner, our resident psychiatrist." At the sound of it, Mark wondered if she would be anything like his shrink in New York was: a pompous, arrogant, way too expensive blowhard. "Then a day after that, a follow-up with me, during which we'll discuss all of our options more thoroughly. Does that sound alright to you?"

Again, Lexie answered for both of them. "Yeah." Her voice cracked at the end. She shook her head. "Yes. That's fine."

With that, Naomi reached across her desk and took Mark and Lexie's hands in each of hers. "I know how hard this is for both of you," she said kindly, looking between the two of them, "but you came to the best, and I mean that in the humblest way possible. I can help you. You can still have your baby."

Lexie looked at Mark, hoping for any sort of response. When he didn't look back, it hurt more than she was prepared for.

Mark's silent brooding lingered for a long time after they left Oceanside Wellness. It continued throughout short cab ride to their hotel and made him stay perched on the edge of the bed once they got there. He glared at the wall, chin in his hands and elbows on his knees, gazed fixed on nothing in particular. Every so often, fury would explode within him, spraying his insides with fire, and it took every ounce of his self control to suppress it.

When Lexie had had enough of it, enough of him being physically there but not really _there_, she knelt behind him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his torso and lying her head on his shoulder, steadfast when he flinched. "You heard what Naomi said. We can still have a baby," she murmured, and he admired her for being so brave. "Everything will be okay." She didn't realize how futile the words sounded until after she said them. "Just, please, you need to say something." She meant it to sound a lot more forceful, but there was little power in the face of desperation. She should have known that, had the past two years been any indicator.

His eyes closed. _Say something_. What was there to say? If he told her what was on his mind, what was killing him, puncturing him from the inside out, it would destroy her.

Because it wasn't just his all-encompassing anger at himself for being incapable.

Never mind that their childlessness had been his fault from the very beginning.

No matter that five years of failure, five years of disappointment, two years of an unhappy and unhealthy marriage, the loss of emotion, and all of the sadness could be blamed on him.

No. The feeling searing him? It was a different one altogether.

Betrayal.

It made him sick to his stomach that Lexie wasn't his chief concern. She should have been the one he would think about now, his _wife_, not someone else. She _should_ have been.

But the blind rage was telling him otherwise. One face appeared out of all the others he had ever known, that face and that face only. His skin burned, and if he hadn't known better he would have thought he actually in flames.

"I'm going for a walk," he told Lexie abruptly, plucking himself from her clasped arms and making his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Lexie stammered, eyes widening.

"Out."

"When will you be back?"

He halted with his hand on the doorknob. He looked over his shoulder at her, sighing and softening despite the tumult inside of him. She looked so scared. Scared that he wouldn't come back this time. A single tear had fallen from her right eye and was rolling down her face, clinging to the curve of her cheekbone.

He loved her. That was unquestionable, irrevocable – she was his redemption, his life, his first thought in the morning and last thought at night, and no matter how much he ever hurt her it always hurt him more to do so (and what he had to do next would be no exception).

But there was still something else. The discrepancy. Something that Naomi had realized too – he saw the flash of surprise and disbelief in her eyes. Something that Lexie probably hadn't thought of just yet, too wrapped up in their own problem to see the bigger picture.

"Soon," he exhaled, running his hand through his hair. "I promise. I'm sorry, I just…" rubbed at his chin and beard, swallowing hard and squeezing his eyes shut. He grunted in defeat and frustration. "I'll be back soon."

Before she could stop him, before she could make any other noise, a word, squeak, whimper, or even a breath, he had slipped out the door. After holding her breath and staring for a while at where he had been, she fell back against the bed, feeling the rest of the tears come like miniature waves over her face.

The ceiling grew blurry at the bottom edge. Images danced and shimmered in the darkness, of the pregnant woman from the waiting room, of Jeffrey Wilder and Marjorie Freedman. Of Naomi and _you can still have your baby_ and _I'll be back soon_.

She wiped her tears away to make room for more. She prayed it was true.

She couldn't have her baby without him.

But he was on a mission. Mark had stopped briefly in the hotel lobby to find the information he needed. Then, he stepped into the street (even without the presence of the sun, it was still warm…fucking Los Angeles, he though) and hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of his destination and then ignored the overly-cheerful man's attempts to strike up a conversation, choosing to gaze out the window instead. It was like he was being chased through a nightmare. Every mile they traveled told him to go back; every streetlight they passed on the coastal highway was a beacon leading him to the past and the damage that had been inflicted then.

When large houses began to line the highway, sandwiched between the road and the ocean, Mark knew that they were getting close. His heartbeat began to echo in his ears. His blood was boiling. His hands ached, and he knew it was all in his head – he had been fighting to keep something only to have it ripped away from him, and now it apparently wasn't his in the first place. His face must not have looked good, because he felt the cabbie's eyes flicker to him every few seconds.

He wasn't in suspense if Mark was going to flip out or vomit for much longer, because they soon arrived at the address that Mark had relayed to him. The house that sat there wasn't as gaudy as the others around it – white and box-shaped with a slanted roof extension at the top. He handed the driver all of the money that was in his pocket, overpaying ridiculously but not caring. "Keep the change," he muttered, distracted.

He took off, running around the back of the taxi and barely hearing the driver's call of, "Holy shit, thanks, man!" Stepping up to a jog, his feet moved from asphalt to sand to grass as he spied a gate along the side of the house. He took toward it. He wouldn't even bother going in through the front.

He could hear the ocean rumbling in the distance, and the air coming off of it was salty and warm. In Seattle, the wind from the sound always had a bitter chill to it. _I think that's why I like it so much_. If he knew anything, it was that seven-years-californicated Addison wouldn't be inside on a night like this.

He fumbled with the gate's latch for a moment, stretching to his fullest height to reach over the top. When it loosened and finally opened, he pushed it on its hinges and he slid through it. He followed the wall of the house around the corner. His shoes were sinking into the ground, and when he looked down he realized that he was on the beach. The ocean was rolling, lapping at the first few feet of sand at its shore. The moon was a sliver and a wispy cloud obscured its bottom. He squinted into the distance, and he could see the boardwalk.

But closer, there was the house's patio. It was raised about a yard off the sand and was littered with deck chairs and paper lanterns. In the center was a small table.

And sitting at the table, sipping a glass of red wine, looking very serene as she gazed out onto the beach, was Addison Montgomery.

He had to force himself to take the couple of stairs up to the porch. She noticed him when he was halfway up, leaning forward and quirking an eyebrow. "Mark?" she asked in a surprised, but not frightened, tone. "What are you doing here?"

The bloodcurdling urge to scream welled up again at the sound of her voice. Mark gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass, finally standing with both feet on her level. "If you need anything while you're here, anything at all, you know how to find me," he mimicked her promise from earlier, voice edgy and clipped. Addison bit her lip at his tone.

"_Okay_," she said, drawing the word out, "how _did _you find me?" She let an uncomfortable laugh go, running a hand through her hair.

"Am I stupid or something?" he snapped, and Addison flinched. "It's called a phone book, Addison. There are only so many Addison Montgomeries in the greater Los Angeles area, and even less who live next door to a Samuel Bennett, you know. It wasn't really that hard."

It wasn't until then that Addison saw him. Saw that he was seething. Saw the look of pain on his face. Saw how he was squinting at her as if he was staring into the sun. Saw his steeled jaw and the hurt in his normally clear blue eyes.

"Oh, Mark," she said softly. "It's Lexie, isn't it? That's terrible." She narrowed her eyes in sadness and shook her head. "Look, if she needs someone to talk to, I'm here. I can empathize with her, Mark, I know exactly how she feels."

"That's not it," he exploded, voice hardening once again. His fists tightened as a particularly large wave crashed in the background. His whole body was shaking with anger and fear of hearing the fulfillment of his next request. He spat it out, doing his best to handle the alkaline taste it left in his mouth. "I'd just like to know who I was sharing you with back in New York."

Addison's eyes widened incredulously, forehead wrinkling. "What do you mean?"

"New York. You were cheating on me."

"_What?_ No, I wasn't!"

"Bullshit," Mark spat, advancing toward her, and Addison rose from her seat and drew herself to her fullest height.

"What the _hell_ are you on, Mark?" she demanded, glaring at him with as much intensity as she could muster.

"I know I wasn't the only one," he started, dangerously, "because I couldn't have been. I have low sperm motility, Addison." He shuddered when he admitted it himself for the first time. She was taken aback for a moment, a stunned look overcoming her; she quickly regained the defensive composure. "And it's not new. The chance of me ever naturally impregnating a woman are basically nonexistent. And you were pregnant. I couldn't have been the father, so unless you're the virgin Mary there had to be someone else. Who was it?" he insisted.

She held up a hand, effectively halting him. "Okay, first of all, even if I _had_ cheated, I wouldn't have been the only one. Does the Peds nurse ring a bell, Mark? Remember her?" She glowered, deep blue eyes burning in the darkness, and he felt a phantom pang of guilt. "But I did not cheat on you. Did you hear me, Mark? _Why_ would I do that, after I got tossed out of my house in the rain and had my belongings thrown at me after I cheated on my husband? Why would I do that after every single shitty karmic thing that happened to me revolved around that? Why the hell would I cheat on you after it hurt so damn much to cheat the first time?" Her voice was frantic and high-pitched, and her hands were gesturing wildly in the air around her. Her eyebrows were almost comically high.

Mark had no choice but to believe her when he heard her. He remembered way too well how Derek leaving had destroyed her. He remembered the nights she spent crying and the few times she had called out Derek's name while he was buried inside of her.

It was convincing. Why would she willingly bring that upon herself again?

He sat heavily on one of the lawnchairs, leaning over, resting his elbows on his knees. He wrung his hands, gazing down at his shoes. There should have been relief. But there wasn't. He just felt the hole inside of him grow larger. He clasped his hands together in the position of prayer, even though that was the last thing he would do.

She wasn't his Addison anymore. That much was obvious. Right now, his Addison would have been tucking their child into bed, telling them a bedtime story and giving them a goodnight kiss.

But she was still _Addison_. She was the woman who both held and crushed his heart. Apparently, she had kept possession of a part of it. Why else would be so concerned about something that happened (_didn't_ happen, he thought), so many years ago? She would always hold that piece of him captive, that one utter loss.

She had been watching him carefully the whole time, slowly sinking back down into her chair. A bitter smile spread across his face. The situation really was kind of humorous.

_There have been miracle cases I've heard of._

Of course. He _would_ have almost been the father of a miracle child. Almost.

Silence hung heavily in the air between them. Addison was looking into the depths of her wine glass, not daring to glance at him. The ocean continued to move despite the gloom in the air.

Finally, acknowledging the idea, Mark spoke. His voice was thick.

"So I guess that child was the one natural chance either of us had."

Addison sighed shakily, assaulted by heartache. "I guess so."

Mark let out a humorless, empty laugh, no more than a burst of air through his nostrils. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the dark ocean, at the glittering specks of light that seemed to float on the top. It gave him an answer that, had it been discovered years ago, would have made everything right.

"Maybe nature was trying to tell us something."

Addison's sorrow was replaced once again by confusion at his vague statement. "What do you mean, Mark?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, lips remaining slightly parted after the words had passed them. "…Mark?"

But he didn't hear her. He was too focused on the sound of the waves, the crash and the static - the ebb and the flow, carrying everything he wanted away from him until he had to reach, reach farther…

His thumb was gliding along his wedding band; fingertips slipping against shards of glass.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wait,  
We swear we'll love you more  
And wholly, Jezebel  
It's we, we that you are for only_

_One year later_

She breathes.

He watches it happen. Her tiny chest rises and then falls, air moving through the perfectly round "O" in her lips. He waits, stalling his own breath. It happens again. Absolutely silent. The air conditioner for these last days of summer hums somewhere below the threshold of his awareness. Asleep, gently-shut lids obscuring those opaque blue eyes that he's sure will eventually turn hazel-brown.

He doesn't dare move – moving would induce noise, which would induce waking, which would induce another round of crying and this has been the first quiet time all day. So instead he stands like a statue, hands resting gingerly on the crib's railing, observing this little thing.

Her chest moves again beneath a lavender onesie which is, by coincidence, the same shade as the four walls that surround them. It's one of the cheap ones for napping and spitting up in, from a variety pack, unlike the more expensive and well-crafted ones from Carter's or The Children's Place. But these chinchy ones are softer, the cotton turned into velvet over innumerable washings. He wants to touch it so he tries to do it without disturbing the time bomb. He traces a slightly lopsided oval-ish pattern on her belly, delighted when she just stirs and doesn't awaken. He takes it one step further, smoothing the downy jet black hair that stands almost straight-up from her head. He touches it just enough to feel it. It floats right back up and he can't help but smile.

Two months, and it still hasn't fully registered that she's here. That she's alive. And that she breathes. That one fact shouldn't carry as much novelty as it does. But she _breathes_. Like a normal human being.

No, she _is_ a normal human being, he corrects himself. Sometimes he has to force himself to remember that just because she wasn't created in the conventional way doesn't change her status as a regular baby.

She makes this noise in her slumber, a small, shuddering moan. Her eyes don't open, but squeeze shut even tighter. Mark cringes, convinced that the wailing is about to begin again. But the baby settles again and keeps breathing, confounding him every time she inhales.

She's here. She's been here.

She's the result of a long, hard journey that began last year. He remembers that night like yesterday – standing on the beach patio of the woman he once loved, staring in silence at the ocean, lamenting the miracle child that could have been but never was. His thumb was pressed to the wedding ring that connected him to the woman he loved and was waiting for him. The gold was warm with his body heat. In that moment, surrounded by the sea and its rhythm, he swore to himself and the unpredictable future that he would make things even. He would avenge the child he lost with the child he would have. Not a replacement, but another child entirely; another chance. Pinpricks of heat stung him everywhere as a deep breath of salty air filled him with exhilaration.

He had leapt from the lawn chair he was perched on and rushed over to Addison, satisfaction and determination gleaming in his eyes. She gazed up at him, her own blues doused in sadness and regret, and Mark knew that she might never have this chance. It was, at the same time, the most heartbreaking and most liberating thing he could have thought of. Unable to find any words to justify speaking, he cupped her cheek in his hand, feeling the porcelain contours that he hadn't held for seven years, staring into her eyes and hoping to convey the message _But I have another chance._

Then he took off, back to Lexie, to kiss her and tell her that yes, he was still there, and yes, let's go through with this. Let's have our baby.

The appointments began. Psychiatric with Dr. Turner, gynecological with Addison herself, and the rest with Naomi. They didn't get the go-ahead for another month. When it was time, they went with the ICSI; less chance of multiples, and Naomi had a (only marginally) higher success rate with it. Naomi, Addison, and a few lab techs did what they should have been able to do alone, with just their bodies to aid them. Lying on separate beds, Mark having just received the needle of a lifetime and Lexie waiting nervously for it, there was this overwhelming awe between them that Lexie managed to convey in a single simple sentence.

"Mark," she whispered with frantic wonder when she saw Naomi approaching her, smiling eyes above her mask and apparatus in hand.

"What?"

A pause. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and succumbed to the stream of tears that began to fall from her eyes.

"We just made a baby."

His heart rapidly climbed into his throat.

The pregnancy wasn't easy. They were required to see Addison and Naomi for their neo-natal appointments, so they had to travel between Seattle and Los Angeles quite regularly. It became downright hard toward the end. Lexie was willing but wistful when it came time to go on leave from her fellowship. But all of the trouble was completely and entirely worth it when they saw the first sonogram, when the baby moved for the first time, and especially when they heard the words "it's a girl." The instant they got back to Seattle, Mark picked up the light purple paint they had decided on for a baby girl's nursery, as opposed to the royal blue they had picked for a boy's.

When the time arrived, Addison came to Seattle to deliver their daughter. Lexie screamed and pushed, gripping Mark's hand as if life depended on it (and life kind of _did_ depend on it). The birth was painful but uncomplicated. She slid into the world, totally helpless and totally loved.

She isn't a miracle child.

She isn't an unnatural existence either.

She's just Erin.

She's a baby. All she does is cry, eat, poop, and sleep, with the occasional not-quite-yet smile thrown in. She's really just a blob – she has no personality, she's too young for that. Mark's not the kind of parent who will make something like that up (that being said, there's this one face she makes that, according to him, looks _exactly_ like an expression of Lexie's).

And she's not a particularly simple baby either. Prickly. Colicky. Spits up most of what she's fed. Screams when she's put down. Still sleeps about as well as a newborn. Cries constantly, save for rare moments of peace like this. Won't calm down unless someone sings "Heat of the Moment" by Asia. More than enough to totally exhaust both of her parents.

But at the same time, she's so much more than a slightly cranky infant. She's an enthralling novelty for the scab-kneed Shepherd twins; a baby who wasn't their sibling ("Gently," Meredith would caution them as they took turns holding her, and it was probably one of the only times they actually applied the term). She's the source of wary curiosity from her shyer three-year-old cousin, who would only look at her from a distance, usually from behind Meredith's legs. She's a future playmate for Meredith and Derek's eleven-month-old son. She's a beloved niece and daughter. She's Mark and Lexie's entire life, she makes the world turn, she's the missing piece of the puzzle, the completion of their family. ("We've done well," Lexie would say with this soft smile if she was here with him right now, watching their baby girl sleep)

She's their renewal. Their happiness. Their everything.

Come to think of it, she _is_ kind of a miracle.

As soon as the thought occurs to him, Erin squirms and her face contorts. A wail erupts from her, loud and unabashed, and Mark cringes for a moment. Another breath. Another scream.

Quickly, he reaches in and picks his daughter up. She's so warm in his arms.

Cradling her, weathering her cries, he murmurs the only words he knows to say – the ones he's heard in movies (he still hasn't come into his own as a father yet, no amount of preparation is adequate, but he's learning). "It's alright. You're okay. I've got you."

But in his mind, it's a prayer. Over and over again, as best he can.

_You're here. You're here. You're here._


End file.
